


Betting on Red

by NeverEverAfter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, High Heels, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Smut, Swearing, Vaginal Sex, dom!Cas/sub!Reader, hints of dom!Reader/sub!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverEverAfter/pseuds/NeverEverAfter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Imagine wearing dark lipstick, and when Castiel says it makes you look intimidating, all you say is "good," which makes him take you right then and there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betting on Red

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N = Your Name

When you aren't knee-deep in apocalyptic chaos and the wholesale ass-kicking of things that go bump in the night, you have one problem. Monsters, by comparison, are easy to handle: iron, silver, salt. _Your problem_ is different. It manifests itself in the form of Castiel, _angel of the freaking Lord_.

Bad enough is the fact that he walks around looking naturally debauched at all times, with his disheveled hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Even worse is the firm body you can't help but imagine pressing you up against every wall and surface of the bunker, the deep voice that would sound _so much better_ moaning your name into your ear. But the worst offender by far is his mouth; his lips full, flushed and so often parted in a natural pout.

If he were a demon, you'd have sold your soul just to seal it with a kiss. Of course, nothing is ever that simple with Cas. He's an angel, and in your experience, angels _wrote the damn book_ on "complicated."

Castiel dotes on the Winchesters (and you, if you're being honest) in many ways. It goes beyond what you should expect from an eternal being who had a front row seat to Creation. Before him, his celestial brothers and sisters had been, _at best_ , utterly indifferent to your kind. But Cas was unique. His growing compassion had opened a door, shifted a paradigm. He'd made mistakes—enormous, potentially _earth-shattering_ mistakes, sure—but set out to amend them with a passion that was beautifully human, and you loved him for it. It was true; he'd given you much.

Still, you found yourself craving _more_. Selfish maybe, but you couldn't help it.

To be fair, your passion for him had been a slow burn. Historically, your attempts at flirtation were passive at best, all coy smiles and soft words, the vast majority of which flew straight over his delectably tousled head. But over time they snowballed in frequency. There were times you were almost certain your feelings were reciprocal. From the corner of your eye, you'd catch him watching you just a little too long, his hand brushing yours as he stood just a little too close.

Dean managed to pick up on it—of course he did; he was a bloodhound for that sort of thing. You had to give the guy credit; it was impressive. Fucking _uncanny_ , really.

"It's like a ticking time bomb of unresolved sexual tension in here," he'd said. "You're friggin' nuclear."

Dean had a point then, though you'd denied it outright, and Cas remained oblivious. It was the natural order of things, and the end result was always the same. You would laugh; Cas would cast his eyes downward, clear his throat and reset. The angel was difficult to read, and you sat on the fence between backing off and redoubling your efforts.

On this particular evening, exactly one week post-call-out, the stars align and you resolve yourself to finding an answer.

Dean and Sam had been wrapping up a hunt not far from Springfield, Missouri. Just a standard salt and burn. It wasn't anything they couldn't handle without you, and you were grateful for the day off. Having the bunker to yourself once in awhile afforded you time to think.

 _Among other things_ , _if you had it your way_. But you weren't going to acknowledge that out loud.

Seated at the desk in your room, you tap your fingers against the smooth finish. As per usual, you are consumed with thoughts of Castiel. You find your conviction buried somewhere between fantasies of feather-light kisses and rough, unrelenting thrusts.

You pick up your phone, double-checking the text Sam had sent you earlier in the day: " _done_ _here, heading back_." With the way Dean drives, you estimate that you have about two hours before the brothers show up hungry. If you are going to step up and _do this thing,_ you need to make every minute count. This means pulling out the big guns, metaphorically speaking, and you have to look the part.

Your usual garb is utilitarian by necessity, but every hunter worth her salt has a skirt and heels lying around. A nice pair of legs can be a powerful weapon when you're angling for loose lips. On the job, that means intel, but in this case you're hoping for something a bit more _literal_.

With that in mind, you shimmy into your go-to mini, a slinky little black number, and fasten a chic pair of scarlet stilettos around your ankles. One form-fitting top (that leaves _just_ enough to the imagination, _thank you very much_ ) and a generous application of lipstick later, you are dressed to kill. You press your cherry lips together once, pulling them apart with an exaggerated pop, and smile into the mirror.

Tonight, you're betting on _red._ And you have to admit, as far as seduction is concerned, you are liking your odds.

You make your way from your bedroom to the library, strutting dangerously to get into your groove, swaying your hips back and forth in a practiced motion. When you first enter the room, you feel confident. By the time you reach your target bookshelf, you are downright _predatory_. Leaning forward, you rest your arms on the polished wood. You hitch one leg forward, the other stretching back. It's one of the oldest plays in your book, the same pose you'd use bending over in a smoky bar, but you can't argue with its long history of success.

You clear your throat. "Castiel." Consider it baiting the hook; you never use his full name. "Are you hearing me, Cas? I need you here."

You have to stifle a grin when you hear the telltale flutter of wings behind you. The answering voice, deep and familiar, sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

"Y/N. Is everything all right?"

Turning slowly, mindful to arch your back _just so,_ you face the new arrival _._ When you notice his alarmed expression, you almost feel guilty about your ulterior motives. " _Almost_ " being the operative word.

"Of course," you say, quirking a brow and feigning innocence. "Don't I look all right?"

"You, uh... Well, you look..." His gaze drifts downward, stopping to appraise your mouth, your red lips now pulled up at the corner in a fierce smirk. He swallows visibly. "Intimidating."

Those dark blue eyes rise again to meet yours. You stare up at Cas from beneath the fringe of your lashes, holding him there for a long moment, daring him to look away.

He doesn't. His eyes are vivid and focused, and _God help you_ , he's as beautiful as ever—hair mussed, pink lips hanging slightly open. Sentences escape you.

When you speak, your voice is breathy, heated. The single word that leaves your lips is both a challenge and an invitation:

" _Good_."

Without warning, he breathes out hard, rushing forward to push you back against the stacks. His broad hands grip each of your upper arms, holding you in place while his lips— _those goddamn perfect lips—_ press roughly against your own. An involuntary " _Cas_ " rolls off your tongue. He startles at the sound of your voice and pulls away, as if you'd doused him with cold water or woken him from a dream.

 _Maybe mine_ , you think. _It sure feels like it_.

"Forgive me," he says, chin raised, body stiff. The bright shade of your lipstick stains his mouth. "That was inapp—"

 _No way in hell_ are you letting him finish that train of thought. Lapels of his trench coat firmly in your grasp, you pull Cas down for another kiss, just as rushed as the first. Capturing his lower lip between your own, you let your teeth graze the soft flesh as you pull back.

"Y/N..." He whispers your name the way you'd always longed to hear it; like something coveted, precious beyond measure.

You rake your fingernails through the fine hair at the nape of his neck before planting a warm kiss in the crook, delighted at the red hallmark left behind in the shape of your lips. _Mine_. The angel fails to suppress a grunt at the back of his throat.

"What do you want, Castiel?" you ask, placing a fresh flurry of light kisses on the underside of his jaw, letting your lips brush his skin as you speak. You can feel his pulse there, furious and quick.  
  
"I—anything," he breathes, shuddering at the invocation of his name and the gentle caress of your mouth. "Everything."

"So show me," you whisper into his ear, hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin.

That does it. In one fluid motion he slides both his hands behind your thighs, feral and possessive, lifting your bare legs to wrap them around his waist, your hips held still against the bookshelf.

 _It's so easy_ _to forget how strong he is_.

You gasp at the sensation of your sex, already dampening with arousal, being pulled suddenly against his torso. Even through the layers of his clothing— _dear God, why does he have to wear so many clothes?_ —you can feel the unnatural heat of his body, the inevitable result of an angel being confined so tightly within a fragile vessel.

You exploit your vantage, carding your fingers down through his dark, ruffled hair as you lower your lips to meet his, which are already parted expectantly. The wet brush of his tongue against your lips is a demand and a promise, both of which you hand yourself over to willingly. His tongue in your mouth is soft but sure, and you recognize so much of _him_ in the kiss he gives you.

Impatience takes over. The second he pulls away you reach down to the hem of your shirt with both hands, yanking it over your head and tossing it to the floor in a careless heap. Those eternal eyes skim over you, reverent, watching as you reach behind your back to unhook your bra and discard it.

"You're beautiful, Y/N," he murmurs, hands shaking against your thighs. "The way I see you... I wish you knew."

It beggars the imagination, but you've never seen Castiel look quite so breathtaking as he does right now, devotion hanging from his lips like an ornament.

"I think I do, Cas."

He places a tender kiss against your rib cage, another to the valley between your breasts, tracking his lips across the soft flesh to a nipple, a moment of nervous hesitation before taking it into his mouth and sucking. The shock to your nerves travels straight to your core.

Keeping you pinned against the stacks, he brings one hand up to your opposite breast, pinching the bud between his thumb and forefinger and rolling it experimentally. He relishes the result, your long legs gripping him tighter, inadvertently digging your heels into the small of his back. You worry that you could be hurting him, but his blissful groans and amplified vigor toward your breasts say otherwise.

After a generous while, he returns his hand to the back of your thigh, readjusting himself, letting you slip lower against his body until your clothed heat rests against the growing tent in his pants.

 _Oh_.

Your inner muscles clench involuntarily. Seeking comfort and relief in equal parts, he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing in your scent, and grinds his cock against you, so eager for the pressure. Three times he does this, agonizingly slow, his husky voice whispering your name against your neck at each pass. You can feel his teeth graze your skin.

With all the wetness and heat pooling in your center, you could almost come then and there, but he stills himself as if on cue, and looks at you with bright eyes.  
  
"There's something else I'd like to show you," he growls.

"Anything, Cas," you pant, "anything you want."

He pulls you away from the bookshelf, wrapping one strong arm around your back to cradle you against him, and carries you to a table in the center of the room. He sets you down on the edge before kneeling ceremoniously in front of you.

"Watch," he demands. You are all too willing to obey, lying back to prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes centered on Castiel as he hikes your skirt up toward your hips. Once satisfied with his work, he places his hands on the inside of your calves, stroking them upward in a steady climb to reach your inner thighs, parting your legs even further as he goes, until he has enough space to crouch between.

At the first press of his plush lips to the inside of your knee, your heart beats wildly in your chest. He maintains eye contact, trailing greedy kisses along the elegant line of your thigh, one after another. Every inch brings him closer to your overheated core. You tremble for him and he watches with fascination as your breathing becomes rapid and shallow.

Right before he reaches his mark, he pauses to lick his lips and you can't help but whimper at the sight of him. He rewards you with a long, firm kiss against your clit, lighting up your nerves, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing still separating you from him. For a moment, he closes his eyes as if savoring it before pulling away, and you moan his name, desperate for more.

"I want to taste you, Y/N." His expression is determined, the dark pupils of his brilliant blue eyes wide with lust.

"Do it," you beg. "Oh god, Cas, _please_."

He hooks his fingers beneath the trim of your panties, brushing against the delicate skin near your entrance before bringing the garment down your legs, carefully maneuvering it over your red heels. For whatever reason, he seems bound and determined to leave those on. _Not that you're complaining._ He tosses your panties aside.

Without hesitation, he buries his head between your legs, licking you in a broad stroke across your folds. A gasp escapes your mouth and he moans against you, making you want him all the more. You lean forward and weave your fingers into his near-black hair, tugging gently and holding him close as he massages you with his voracious tongue.

Desperate for friction, he uses one hand to palm at his hard cock through the thick barrier of his trousers. _That's not nearly enough_. Watching the obvious effect you have on his desire fills you with an unfettered passion.

_You fucking adore him._

"You're so perfect, Castiel," you pant as he nuzzles against you, sucking gently on your clit. "So perfect. You have no idea."

He presses down forcefully with the palm against his cock, loving how exquisite his name sounds coming from you, each syllable balanced carefully on your tongue, even in the midst of your pleasure. _Especially_ then. _You're so perfect, Cas-ti-el_. He groans, the rich gravel of his voice causing vibrations that set fire to you from the inside out.

With his free hand he reaches up, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing against your slick entrance, teasing you.

"Is this what you want from me, Y/N?"

_Every time I look at you, Castiel. I want everything from you. I don't remember how not to._

You long to say it.

Instead, all that comes out is an urgent " _Yes, Cas, please_."

He slips one finger between your folds, as deep as it can go, then a second, and you squeeze them with a keening whine.

"Soft," he mumbles, his lips brushing against your sex. He twists his fingers, inquisitive blue eyes trained on his task. "You're so soft inside."

You buck against his hand, a wordless plea for motion, and he obliges, driving his fingers in and out at a steady pace. The angel sets his mouth back to work against your clit, licking and sucking diligently until you are teetering on the edge of orgasm. Every fiber of your being is drawn taut, imploring him to guide you over completely.

" _God_ , Cas, you're— _ohhh_ , that feels so good. You're so good, Castiel," you purr, peeking down at him and biting your bottom lip as you writhe against the consummate ministrations of his tongue and fingers. "I'm so close."

His eyes flick upward, watching your face as the cord inside you snaps and you come apart against his mouth, his lips still smudged red despite their near-constant worship of your body. Your head falls back, and you mumble Castiel's name again and again as that beautiful lightning races through your system.

He angles back, allowing you to sit upright once the steady beat of your ecstasy fades. His gaze is unrelenting, enraptured by your performance.

"Again," he growls, his voice a commanding baritone.

 _How is he real?_ Craving nothing more than to please _you_ when his own body must be aching for well-deserved attention. _Fuck_. You want to give him everything.

"Soon," you promise, still catching your breath. "Right now, it's your turn."

You slide off the table, pulling the angel to a stand before shucking his trench coat over his shoulders, freeing him from it and folding it over the back of the nearest chair. After abandoning his suit jacket to the same fate, you clasp both hands around his tie to draw him close, undoing it and letting it fall as you whisper praise in his ear.

"Should I—?" He brings his hands up to the first button of his dress shirt.

"No," you coo, trailing your fingers up his torso, feeling his breath hitch beneath them, until you rest your hands just below his. "I'll take care of you."

Your deft fingers unfasten the buttons, pausing after each one to adorn every patch of newly exposed flesh with fervent kisses, lower and lower. Brought to a kneel, you unlatch his belt, unbutton his pants, but make no effort to remove them.

Instead, you stand back up, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. You place both hands inside his open shirt, letting them rest on the ridges of his hips. Holding them flush against either side of his body, you lead your hands upward to his ribs, thumbs coasting over the smoothness of the muscles beneath his tanned skin. Cas shivers and gives a quiet whimper when you reach around behind him, dragging your nails down his spine. When at last you separate him from his white button-up—easing it off his shoulders, down his arms, and letting it fall to the floor—you pause to appreciate him, every defined line in flawless order. _God, he was worth the wait._

You gift him with a single chaste kiss against his lips, greedily accepted, before slipping a hand past the waistband of his pants, rubbing the crevice between his thigh and his crotch through the thin barrier of his boxer briefs.

"Are you ready?"

"I am— _uuungh_ — _more_ —than ready." You savor the groan that leaves his throat when you run a firm hand over his length. "Substantially."

 _"Substantially" is right. Jesus._ He is bigger than you'd expected, and iron-hard. It takes your breath away in a huff, and you clamp your thighs together as an unexpected jolt of pleasure runs through your sex.

"Sit," you swallow, at an utter loss for words. You nod to the chair next to you, the resting place of his displaced trench coat and suit jacket. "There."

Cas obliges, and the way he looks then makes it almost impossible for you to temper your restraint. _Fuck_. He's like a living checklist of casual debauchery. Shoulders slung back, resting against the curved wood. Toned arms draped over those of the chair. Strong legs parted in a way that begs for you to be between them.

 _God damn_ , _you want to ruin him, climb onto his lap and ride him like a fucking stallion._ You bite your lip _. Down, girl. Fair is fair._

Kneeling down, you quickly remove his shoes and socks before nestling close between his knees. You look into his eyes, twin pools of blue clouded with lust in a way that should not look so fitting on an angel of the Lord. _Oh, but it does._ Your fumbling hands tug at the waistband of his dress pants, yanking them down over his eagerly lifted hips, and pull them off.

You have hunter's nerves; this kind of anxiety almost never gets the best of you, but you have been waiting so long to see him like this, _exactly like this_. After everything you've been through, you should be prepared for anything, able to _believe_ anything, but this... This is something else. This is Castiel, _your Castiel_ , baring his flawless body to you, all but begging you to take advantage of it.

With both hands on the top of his sculpted thighs you lean in close, no more than an inch separating your lips from him, your hot breath making him tremble. The way his cock presses against the restraint of his boxer briefs, already damp with precome, makes your mouth water in anticipation. His heady scent leaves you dizzy with desire.

Just as he had done, you press puckered lips to his sex, choosing the sensitive place just beneath the head. The resulting flex of his stiff length against your kiss and the needy way he gasps your name bring a rush of wetness between your legs. Your fragile patience, the tenuous control you cling to, is as much a temptation for you as it is for him and you find your hold on it slipping away.

_Enough is enough. You want to taste him now, right the fuck now._

You drag his boxer briefs off in a hurry, a mad rush to get your mouth back to his waiting cock. At the first contact of your red lips sealed around his bare flesh, your hot, wet tongue cushioning the tip, he sighs your name.

"Y/N— _ahhh_ —fu-fuck, Y/N, I—" He stumbles over his words, one of which you are quite certain he doesn't use in heaven. But _God damn_ if it doesn't sound perfect down here with you.

Spurred on by his gasps of pleasure, you bring a hand to his shaft, stroking him in a steady rhythm as you focus the attention of your mouth on the head. You massage it with the flat of your tongue, lips pressed together tightly around the ridge to provide suction.

Removing your hand, you take in as much of his impressive length as you can. His cock is thick and heavy on your tongue, and you wonder absently if Cas would fill up every part of you so well. _Fuck, you'd be willing to try_. Just the thought of it causes a heated pressure to begin building in your core.

He releases his white-knuckle grip on the arms of the chair to fist his hands in your hair, unable to resist bucking his hips toward your mouth. Every other thrust of his rigid cock, now glistening with your saliva, is accompanied by an ardent gasp of your name.

" _Y/N_ — _Y/N_ — _f_ _uck_ — _Y/N_!"

The hard red lines of your stiletto heels press against your supple ass as you rock in time with his movements, and he applauds the wanton show with a groan. You can't ignore the throbbing of your sex any longer, and you rub impatient fingers against your clit and damp, swollen folds. He slows his pace as you moan around him, and you take the opportunity to pull back.

" _Cas_ ," you gasp, "Fuck, Cas, I'm so. So wet for you."

"For me." When he feels the weight of the words on his tongue, his demeanor changes. Gathering his pride with a deliberate incline of his chin and a strong set of his jaw, he leans forward to square his shoulders. _Castiel, the soldier._ Fire burns behind his determined gaze.

" _So show me_ ," he growls, a smooth mimicry of you from earlier, _before_ his sinfully devout treatment of you had your resolve coming apart at the seams.

What choice do you have but to obey? You drag yourself to your feet and turn to the table, balancing yourself on your palms as you stretch your backside toward him, spine delicately arched. The steep soles of your heels prop you up to accentuate your ass in a way that flatters every curve. If you have any hope of regaining your lost control, this is it.

But his composure remains unshaken, the perfect image of an agent of heaven. _Castiel, the commander. He demands respect._

He takes his time coming to a stand, enjoying the view, stroking himself with one hand gently fisted around his cock, still so slick from your mouth. He releases himself, placing the same hand at the nape of your neck before trailing his fingers down the length of your back, over the pert flesh of your ass. You shiver at his touch, the damp stripe left behind by his fingers feeling particularly cool compared to the overwhelming heat of your body. His hand comes to a rest close, _so close_ , to the dripping, aching part of you that longs to be filled with him.

"What's the matter, Y/N?" he growls, the rough grate of his voice a full octave lower than normal. He presses the tip of his cock between your thighs, running it back and forth along your soaked folds. "What could you possibly need?"

_Oh, fuck. He knows exactly what he's doing._

"You." You look back at him over your shoulder, eyes pleading, eager to have him inside you, but he refuses to give. You have none of his discipline. Needy whines escape your lips as you squeeze your thighs together, gliding your clit across his shaft in a last-ditch bid to alleviate some of the mounting tension. " _Fuck_ , Cas. I need _you_."

The corner of his lip pulls up in a dangerous smirk. One gruff word, a mirror of yours, in perfect retribution:

" _Good_."

He thrusts into you then—angel that he is, all fire and fury—sheathing himself to the hilt in your heat.

_Okay, fuck. You deserved that. You had it coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

You cry out for him and he responds in kind, settling into a feverish pace. Nothing to hear but the sound of your heels scraping the floor, the repetitive slap of skin against skin, and a duet of animalistic moans as he slams into you again and again.

"You're mine now, Y/N," he snarls, thick cock filling you up completely, stretching your walls like he belongs there. "No one else may claim you; do you understand?"

You want to speak; you need to say something, _anything_ , but the coiling tightness in your belly reduces you to a mewling mess.

" _Answer_ ," he barks, increasing his authoritative grip on your hips as he angles himself upward to hit a particularly responsive spot within you.

" _Yes!_ " You cry out, rocking back to match him stride for stride. "Yes, Castiel, I un— _ahhh_ —I understand. _I'm yours_." The last part comes out as barely more than a whisper, your mind occupied with the one thing you know to be true:

_I always have been._

"Then I am yours," he murmurs, wrapping his voice with a gentle cadence that makes your frantically pounding heart skip a beat. His pace slows to an even, loving rhythm and he reaches down past your hip to rub circles over your clit. "Would you like that, Y/N?"

"M-more than anything," you stutter, feeling yourself on the crest of your climax. "Cas. _Oh God_ , Cas, I'm gonna— _fuck, fuck, ohhh fuck_."

For the second time tonight, a wave of ecstasy crashes through you, sparks jumping from nerve to nerve until your whole body quivers and you clench tightly around his length. Euphoria consumes you; your mind swims with it, every other notion you have swept up in the unstoppable tide.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

"Y/N," he pants behind you, erratic thrusts signalling that he's soon to follow. " _Y/N_."

When he finishes, you feel it fully, a burst of wet heat flooding your insides, the steady pulsing of his cock as he fucks you through his own orgasm. He leans forward, whispering your name over and over like a prayer. Even when the last of his rhythmic motions slow to a halt, he stays inside you for a moment, drawing a hand across the tender, sweat-slick skin of your back.

"I don't—want this to end," he says quietly, collecting his thoughts as you separate yourself from him.

You turn to him, smiling. "It doesn't have to."

"Good."

"Yeah," you respond with a contented sigh. "Good."

It's simple. It's stupid. You feel like you should say more. Something profound, or romantic, or—but the slow trickle of his release along your thigh reminds you of where you are. In the library. Naked. Exposed. The Winchesters due to arrive within the hour. _That part's important_.

"Cas, can you—? Just wait here, all right?" you say, already gathering your discarded clothing from the floor, wiping yourself clean with your rumpled shirt. "I'm gonna change. I won't be long."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

You give him a final, affectionate kiss on the lips before trotting out of the room.

_Of course you can run in heels. You're a freaking hunter._

Back in your room, you yank off your skirt and heels, dressing down in a new outfit: t-shirt, sweats, the picture of modesty. You preen your mussed hair, wipe off the smudged traces of your red lipstick, erasing "sex" from your appearance entirely. Your dignity depends on it. The brothers could be home any minute now, and you'd be damned if they caught you looking like the cat that fucked the canary.

When you make it back to the library, you can't help but laugh. Castiel is still standing right where you left him, stern demeanor belied by the fact that he is still gloriously naked as the day he— _well, his vessel, you suppose_ —was born.

"Not for nothing, Cas, but you should probably put some clothes on." You smile. "I'm not sure Sam and Dean will appreciate the view as much as I do."

"You may have a point."

In the time it takes you to blink, he's already dressed—celestial magic that can eliminate menial tasks, but still leaves that silly tie backward and loose.

 _Freaking angels, man_. But this one is yours and you love him, quirks and all.

He clears his throat. "Was that—was I satisfactory?"

"' _Satisfactory_ '? Cas, that was _amazing_ ," you gush, still coming down from your emotional high. You take a seat at the table. "I've wanted you for a long time, you know. _Months_. _At least_."

"You have me now." He furrows his brow, as if the border separating "before" from "after" is too significant to be measured with something as relative as the passing of time. Maybe he has a point. Whatever you had expected an hour ago, it wasn't this.

_This is better._

From the adjacent room, you hear a door open and shut, the hard smacking of two pairs of feet coming down the staircase, two familiar voices in muffled conversation.

 _Shit. Welcome home, boys._ Ahead of schedule, but what can you say? You guys don't exactly work a 9-to-5. Smoothing your hair once more, you cross one leg over the other in what you hope is a casual pose. You do your best to ignore the residual wetness between your thighs. _Here goes nothing_.

Sam enters the room first, eyebrows knitting together in confusion when his sight falls on Castiel. Dean isn't far behind, tossing a pack unceremoniously to the floor and muttering something about food.

"Hello, Sam. Dean." Castiel's voice is calm, his tone impeccable. No one could ever guess that he'd been bending you over the table and fucking you just minutes before. _But, oh, did he ever._

"Wh—uhhh..." The younger Winchester swallows, blinking furiously. "Yeah. Good to see you, Cas."

He glances at you over the angel's shoulder and you shrug. Sure, the added company must be a surprise, but he looks far too confused considering it's just Cas. What does he expect you to say?

Silence hangs in the air for one moment, two, before Dean finally speaks up.

"Cas, are you wearing _lipstick_?"

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be found on Tumblr as [white-feather-black-ink](http://white-feather-black-ink.tumblr.com). Bonus: everything I post there comes with a handy little button that will replace all the Y/N tags in the story with your name (or whatever name you choose to enter). If you'd like to follow me there, please feel free. Thanks for reading!


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